Bravely(35)

Her heart lurched. It was a multipurpose lurch. It lurched because this was acknowledgment that Hubert truly had changed, which meant this entire game was winnable. But it also lurched because—again—this was acknowledgment that Hubert truly had changed, which meant he would never again be the brother he had been when she took him to Ardbarrach in the first place.

Elinor’s voice rose. “Merida, who is this visitor?”

Both Merida and Feradach turned abruptly to see Elinor standing at the end of the hall. Even in silhouette, she managed to look both very royal and very suspicious, the line of her spine straight and proper, the tilt of her head wary and imperious.

There was no way of telling what her mother saw Feradach as, so Merida considered several answers before landing on a neutral one. “Aileen chased us from the kitchen.”

“Why is he being greeted here of all places? It is hardly…appropriate.”

There was no way of telling if it was inappropriate because Feradach appeared too highborn to be greeted in a hallway, too lowborn to be allowed into the castle, or too eligibly bachelor-ish to be standing so close to Merida alone. And Feradach was no help in solving the puzzle of how Elinor saw him, either. He simply stood there, his gloved hands clasped together, looking from mother to daughter.

Merida applied cunning to the situation. “Where do you think would be more appropriate?”

Elinor’s silhouette managed to look aggravated. “Merida, don’t be saucy. Both you and this young man must know that anywhere is more appropriate than a dark hallway, no matter the discussion.”

Understanding crystallized. Merida said, “He’s not a suitor.”

“And yet you’re still a young woman and he’s still a young man,” Elinor said, stepping close enough that Merida was now able to interpret her expression as distrust. It was hard to tell if this meant she didn’t trust Merida, or didn’t trust whomever Feradach looked like. Since their giant argument about marriage years ago, she and her mother had simply avoided the topic of matchmaking altogether, so neither knew the other’s opinions on it. “Now please take this conversation to the Great Hall; it’s terribly dingy back here. Don’t judge us by this, sir. Lovely hat, by the way. Have you been to France?”

Hat?

Feradach replied, “It was a gift.”

“A lovely one.” Elinor turned. “I haven’t seen one since—Fergus! There you are.”

Fergus had just appeared at the bottom of the stairs with a breastplate of armor in each hand. “I’ve not been hiding, my love!” Catching sight of Feradach, he nodded his approval. “Looking fine, grandpa, but it’s late for mumming, isn’t it? Elinor, those ailettes are still missing and I canna find them anywhere.”

Grandpa? Mumming?

Elinor’s arched eyebrows became puzzled eyebrows as she processed Fergus’s words.

Michty me, Merida thought. Whatever Fergus saw Feradach as was obviously quite at odds with Elinor’s version. Merida really did need to get Feradach away before things got more tangled. The moment anyone guessed there was magic involved, it would get very difficult to avoid talking about the bargain.

“Great Hall,” Merida ordered Feradach, and he obeyed.

“So, Lady Madam Grandpa,” Merida said, as soon as they were out of her mother’s earshot. She kept her voice low, because even though the Great Hall was empty, the high walls wanted to take her words and throw them around. “A domestic woman to Aileen and a suitor to my mother and a mummer to my father, and who knows what you’ll be next.”

“I told you I look different to each person who sees me,” Feradach said. “What do I look like to you?”

“You don’t know?” When he shook his head, she asked in disbelief, “Your magic changes your face but doesn’t tell you what it looks like?”

He peered up at the flags hanging from the ceiling of the Great Hall. It was difficult to tell if he was interested in them or deciding if they were rotting and required his ruinous attention. “I only know what I look like if the person looking tells me something about what they are seeing. Your mother mentioned a French hat. Your father mentioned my age, my costume. These are clues.”

A melodic plink drew Merida’s attention.

“Hamish!” she said, horrified. The smallest of the triplets was tucked away in the corner of the Great Hall, nearly hidden by one of the tables. In his hands was a lap harp Merida had definitely heard their mother say was not to be touched. When he saw Merida, he immediately tried to stuff it behind his back, but she wagged a finger at him. “What did you hear?”

“What?” Hamish whispered shyly.

“Did you hear us talking?”

He shook his head. He was still trying to slowly move the lap harp behind himself, as if Merida might forget she’d seen it at all if he got it out of sight. Merida knew the feeling exactly. Behind her back, she pointed aggressively at the door to the outside and hoped Feradach obeyed.

“I won’t tell,” Merida said. “But don’t break it. We’re going outside.”

But Feradach hadn’t moved toward the door as she’d indicated. This was because Hamish had stopped trying to squirrel the lap harp away and was instead staring at Feradach. It was so thorough a stare that it was like a string connected Hamish and Feradach, a string that would be unkind for Feradach to break. So Feradach stood there, letting Hamish stare at him, the triplet looking like a rabbit frozen in place.